


The Clippers of Doom

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dogs, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Greg being sneaky, M/M, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29614839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: Mycroft hears something that sets his radar pinging.  And not in a good way...
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 59
Kudos: 144





	The Clippers of Doom

**Author's Note:**

> Mistle appears in two other stories, [Merry Pupmas!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045815) and [Christmas Day, with Family](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159633), but it's not necessary to have read those to understand this one. Just know that Mistle is the most wonderful rescue dog in the whole entire world and both his daddies love him with their entire hearts.

It was a point of pride to Mycroft that he could identify any number of occurrences by the sounds they made. There had been times, more than a few, when a single sound had made the difference between success and failure. Between life and death. _This_ sound placed the situation near that latter battle of existence and he genuinely didn’t know which outcome would be the more beneficial.

“Gregory? What are you shaving and why?”

“Oh! No! Don’t come in. It’s a surprise.”

Death. Death was the more beneficial outcome, there was really no doubt to be had.

“If you are evincing some form of middle-aged urge to return to your younger roots, whereupon a… punk… hairstyle was more the fashion, rest assured I will commit you to an insane asylum so that your hair might regrow blessedly away from my tortured eyes while you are subject to anti-brainwashing techniques to return you to a sane and sensible frame of mind.”

“Ha! I did have amazing hair when I was younger, but more a general spiked style than anything shaved. Did a bit of coloring, too. Wild stuff but my mum said if I put anything in there that rubbed off on her linens, she’d have my hair and the head that grew it on a post in the garden for the birds to peck at. Luckily, she never noticed the occasional head-saving, replaced pillowcase or she didn’t care since she got new and it probably cost me a pint or two with my mates to cover the cost.”

“I am adding tinting your hair to the moratorium on hair modification activities initiated under this roof.”

“Ooh… that sounded official.”

“I shall have my solicitor draw up documents confirming your observation post haste. Now… I am adamant on this point, Gregory Lestrade… do not besmirch the majesty of your hair or I will do unto you untold and historic acts of retribution that shall render flesh from bone.”

“That sounded official _and_ violent. Nicely done!”

“Thank you. I have spent the morning managing a certain diplomatic situation that required a somewhat draconian hand. Now… give me your most solemn oath and I shall consider this matter managed.”

“I give you my solemn oath that I’m not going punk with my hair.”

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….

“Gregory!”

“What?”

Mycroft gritted his teeth then paused a moment and let the other sounds in their home flow into his ears. All flowed dutifully in accordance with their rank order of importance except for one. A familiar and exuberant one.

“Gregory Lestrade, what are you doing to the dog?”

“That’s the surprise!”

He had asked for death, had he not? Or had he simply mulled its general benefits to his present circumstances? Likely the latter since he had yet to be greeted by any of the Grim Reapers and he surely had sent them enough custom through the years that he warranted a measure of personal attention when he requested their services.

Racing to the computer in Greg’s study, a computer Mycroft was ever scared to touch since Greg had… modded… it to his tastes and it was possessed, _possessed_ being the correct term in Mycroft’s opinion, with many glowing elements, a variety of figurines forming various combat formations or, worse, romantic entanglements, surrounding its base, a screen saver and desktop wallpaper of various ridiculous sports or cinema scenes and had… sounds. Mostly classified as rude.

Using a fingernail to flick the glowing Bluetooth mouse a fraction of an inch to banish the superhero-strewn screensaver, Mycroft stared at the image the monitor revealed and felt his lips curling into a blistering snarl.

“I forbad you from watching YouTube!”

“You didn’t forbad me giving chocolates to Anthea!”

“Forbid, you grammar butcher! But…”

Damn. He had left open the door of bribery, one his beloved merrily skipped through and directly to the person who could and obviously did remove the block he had set on Gregory’s YouTube account. In his defense, he had first instituted an age-restriction protocol but, apparently, even videos suitable for children under the age of ten offered too many ideas his lover’s infantile mind found tempting to test. The home-crafted play slime incident still brought him nightmares. The glitter alone…

“The dog does not require grooming!”

“Require isn’t a very fun word, really. Today, I’m all about fun!”

This was dire. Gregory was feeling… whimsical. Such a feeling foretold many household horrors that were likely now saturated into the very fibers of the house proper, all waiting to gain that necessary measure of sentience to return as apparitions to haunt forever those who dared crossed the threshold. This might be the fuse to ignite that tragic, spectral future.

“Mistle’s appearance is perfectly…”

“Shoddy! Poor thing hasn’t been able to visit his friends at the groomer’s in ages what with the lockdown… lockdowns… how many have we had now? Doesn’t matter. Our poor Mistle is positively unkempt and asked me to freshen his look.”

“Unkempt?”

Mycroft looked back at the array of video thumbnails and, of course, found that specific word in more than a few. He knew it. Gregory never used such words without pointed prodding unless they were specifically chosen to produce pique. The pique had been produced.

“His appearance is fine!”

“Nope. He looks like me! Gotten shaggy and undefined in profile…”

Yes, there it was. Row two, rightmost choice. Undefined in profile. He would have this propaganda scrubbed from the Internet. Let it go and live on the dark web with the other terrorist incitements and Teletubby pornography.

“Mistle’s chaotic genetics ensures he is, by design, undefined in profile. There are at least seventeen breeds in his topsy-turvy lineage, I have no doubt, and that does not lend itself to any manner of profile, undefined or not.”

“We’d know how many if you let me use one of those doggy DNA services.”

“Absolutely not. You would also send yours for testing and I have no wish to learn what canine alleles lurk in your hereditary material.”

“It’d be fun! I might be something truly spectacular like a beagle.”

“There is nothing spectacular about beagles.”

“I think beagles would beg to differ but, alright, if you’re going to demean their quest for doggy glory, then how about a wolf? Go straight to the top of the pup pyramid. I’ll be a wolf. Grrrrrrrrrrr!”

Mycroft held his head in his hands as Greg and Mistle shared growls and barks which, in a clear act of betrayal, were not muffled to inaudibility by the heavy door and walls they were hiding behind.

“Gregory… Mistle’s appearance is perfectly acceptable and…”

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

“GREGORY!”

“Go and have tea. That always makes you feel better.”

“The last time you tried to distract me with a soothing cup of tea I returned to find you attempting to affix a pulley system to the ceiling and front door so when a caller arrived, you could open it remotely and send a skeleton careening up the entranceway to give the visitor a Halloween scare.”

“It would have worked! And been brilliant.”

“The Queen! What if she visited and was given such a fright she suffered a cardiac event? Would you truly want that on your conscience?”

“She doesn’t visit you – you visit her. Bring her a photo of Mistle next time she issues a summons. With his new look. She’d like that.”

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….

“Cease and desist!”

“Nope! Our little man is looking stylish and I’m not going to leave the job half done.”

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…….

“Gregory! That length of buzzing… Mistle hath not such a quantity of hair to warrant it!”

“Hath?”

“I… was overcome.”

“I’d say so. That was Shakespearean. Go have tea.”

“You shall not distract me, Gregory Lestrade!”

“You’re three seconds from a ‘whither!’ Four from a ‘forsooth!’ “

“Balderdash! I am fighting for my son and shall not be dissuaded from that battle no matter the pulchritude of the villain whose clutches are upon him!”

“I… was that an insult or a compliment?”

“I shall not say.”

“Would Shakespeare know?”

“That… let me think… yes. Yes, he would.”

“I suspected as much. Don’t care though! You can’t send me off course with your whirly words.”

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz… bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…. bzz……… bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

“Gregory!”

“You’re just jealous because I’m the artistic one in the family.”

“How dare you!”

“Remind me who won that holiday card drawing contest?”

“The judge was Mrs. Hudson, so there is no validity to your victory. Which, I shall remind you, was also gained treacherously as you taped a £20 note to the back of yours as a bribe.”

“There’s artistry in bribery! You’re just mad because you only taped £10 to the back of yours and got outclassed. And she kept your money.”

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….

“Mistle! Run! Escape the fiend’s foul fingers!”

Mistle barked happily as he always did when he heard one of his daddies say his name. He did not, however, opt to escape the finger foulness.

“Our precious little man is thrilled to be given something new to delight all his friends at doggy school.”

“The other attendees of his dog minding service care not a whit about his appearance. They are dogs, Gregory. Dogs!”

“Daddy Mycroft is maligning you, Mistle. That deserves a special pressie in his slipper, don’t you think? I do.”

“I did not malign our son. I maligned his… no. I shall not play this game. I maligned no one and you are very well aware of that fact. The term ‘dog’ is not derogatory.”

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….

“I’m not sure our Mistle looks much like a dog now, anyway, so it doesn’t matter one way or another.”

“WHAT! What have you done?”

“Been artistic.”

“No no no no no! Mistle is practically perfect in every way!”

“That’s from Mary Poppins! At least it’s not Shakespeare.”

Mycroft slumped and shambled back towards the closed door of the utility room where he let his heavy head fall forward and collide with the wood with a satisfying thump.

“Our child. He shall endure the shame and mockery of his peers.”

“Only if they have no taste. Mistle looks… da bomb.”

“I am having you murdered. I am sorry it had to come to this, Gregory, but there is no remedy for your madness known to medical science.”

“Genius is often mistaken for madness. I’m not fond of the murder bit, but genius also suffers for its creations, so I suppose I’m not surprised by this turn of events. In any case… we’re done!”

Mistle erupted in a stream of barking that Mycroft recognized as his ‘my daddy is giving me a wiggly hug’ bark, one frequently associated with affection bestowed by his soon-to-be-murdered partner.

“We’re coming out. Save your applause until you fully behold the beauty.”

Mycroft didn’t move an inch so the opened door found him with his head still in thumped position, eyes closed and scarcely a step from the aforementioned beauty.

“Open your eyes, you coward.”

Shaking his head slightly, Mycroft only relented when Greg began using Mistle as an annoyance tool by gently swinging his little body to collide with Mycroft’s skull. Repeatedly.

“That is quite… enough?”

Mycroft stared at Mistle, who was giddily wagging his tail since his Daddy Greg and Daddy Mycroft were now both here and paying attention to him. As was proper.

“Like it?”

“Mistle… is absolutely the same!”

“Au contraire.”

Greg repositioned the dog so some impolite bits were staring Mycroft in the face.

“Poor little man needed a trim so peeing and pooping are a bit tidier. I gave his nails a trim, too, since, even though I _do_ like the tippy-tappy sound he makes racing about the place, I worried they might be getting uncomfortable. We can’t have that, can we little Mistle?”

One wiggly hug and gleeful barking assailed Mycroft’s senses and he began to wonder if the ‘having you murdered’ should become ‘murdering you myself, you brigand.’

“And the eternal buzzing noise?”

“Oh. That was just to wind you up.”

Doing the murdering himself it was then.

“That is… dastardly.”

“It was fun! And, I told you – today I’m all about fun. To be honest, though, Mistle and I learned that he thinks a buzzing clipper does a tremendous job giving a doggy massage and… oh, he was doing his happy shiver like he does when I give him a properly good back scratch. I’d say that grooming kit I bought is really paying off! One freshened-up dog who got his back massaged as a bonus. Can’t argue that’s not good value for money. Ooh, look Mistle! Daddy Mycroft is making murder hands.”

Which were moving incrementally towards Greg’s throat the longer he spoke.

“Maybe we should take Daddy Mycroft to that coffee shop he says he hates, but secretly loves since they do fancy things that he feels is due a man of his station, AND who have puppuccinos for sweet doggies who just were very, very good boys while their _artistic_ daddy trimmed their hair.”

The murder hands paused their murderous procession.

“Mine will have whipped cream?”

“As much as you like.”

“Then… I _may_ postpone your demise to a later time.”

__

__

“Very kind of you. Now, let me get this one’s lead and a one of his little hats…”

“Absolutely not.”

“… which always get him a little something special tossed in with our order that you steal, villain that you are.”

“Biscuits, even those without chocolate, are not proper sustenance for a small dog.”

“So… leave the hat behind?”

“Certainly not. Mistle must learn the lessons of good nutrition and all well-learned lessons are achieved through repetition.”

“And motivated teachers.”

“That goes without saying.”

As did the enormous fun of sending Daddy Mycroft into a tizzy but that would remain Greg and Mistle’s little secret for now…


End file.
